


stay the fuck out

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: the right track [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, ftm Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian didn’t think he really needed to bring the tire iron into the Milkovich house, but he did know that if he kept up that mindset he would be better off. (1x07 equivalent fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay the fuck out

                Ian didn’t think he really _needed_ to bring the tire iron into the Milkovich house, but he did know that if he kept up that mindset he would be better off. He stalked in as quietly as he could, tiptoeing through the house. He heard someone snoring on the couch in the living room and knew he was in even deeper shit if this went south.

 

                He only knew where Mickey’s room was because of all the times he’d visited Mandy and had to venture through Mickey’s room to go to the bathroom. He was usually thankful that Mickey didn’t hang around at home much because he didn’t really want to encounter him, but he figured chances were good enough given how early it was the morning after a Milkovich rager. His suspicions proved true when he pushed the door open to find Mickey passed out face-down on the bed.

 

                Ian tried not to spend too much time admiring how good Mickey looked face-down in a pair of ratty sweatpants and steeled his resolve before he leaned down to prod Mickey in the back with the tire iron.

 

                “What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, voice gruff with sleep and a bolstering hangover.

 

                “I want the gun back, Mickey,” Ian said, struggling to keep his voice firm and brandishing the tire iron at him again, hoping he came off as even a little bit threatening.

 

                “Gallagher?” Mickey asked, looking over his shoulder at Ian and yeah, Ian could really get to like seeing Mickey in that position. He turned onto his side and Ian tried not to step back. He couldn’t let Mickey know just how intimidated he was. Being scared shitless helped get rid of his inappropriate boner, at least.

 

                “The gun,” Ian repeated, going for tough and feeling victorious when Mickey held up a hand in supposed surrender and rubbed at his sleepy eyes. He shifted his legs over the side of the bed and looked like he was going to sit up and cooperate so Ian dropped his guard and let his makeshift weapon rest at his side.

 

                Mickey lashed out suddenly and threw Ian against the wall. Ian landed on the bed and Mickey was on top of him the next second, taking hold of his right arm and knocking his hand against the wall until he dropped the tire iron. Ian rolled as best he could to try and buck his hips and throw Mickey off but Mickey just got a grip on him around his neck from behind, holding on like an angry little lemur as Ian swung him around and tried to break his grip.

 

                He succeeded finally and threw Mickey down on the couch along the opposite wall of his bedroom but he didn’t have time to celebrate that minor victory because Mickey was back on his feet before Ian could get in a breath. Mickey came at Ian again and Ian shoved him back against the dresser next to the door. While Mickey was coming back at him Ian turned and went for the tire iron where it had fallen on the bed.

 

                He grabbed for it but Mickey pushed at him and he missed, and they grappled for another moment before Mickey came out victorious, a knee on either side of Ian’s neck and his weight holding Ian’s body down. He held the tire iron above his head, poised to bash Ian’s face in.

 

                Something came over them then, as Mickey straddled Ian and Ian laid there terrified with a facefull of Mickey’s crotch, both panting and hot and tense. Ian stared into Mickey’s eyes and it was like something snapped in them; Mickey dropped the tire iron and sat back, bouncing a little on the bed as he struggled to strip his shirt off. Ian pushed at him frantically in an effort to get free enough to take his own clothes off and Mickey fell backwards, tossing his shirt aside. As soon as he did that he froze and Ian did too. A beat later Mickey scrambled to pull his tank back on but Ian took his hands gently but firmly, eyes locked on the grubby white binding top Mickey was wearing. He carefully eased the shirt Mickey had been wearing from his fingers and tossed it to the floor.

 

                “Are you trans?” Ian asked, and Mickey was incredibly conscious of Ian looking at him. He pulled his hands free of Ian’s grip and crossed his arms over his chest. Ian could see him shrinking in on himself and he tried to draw him back out. “Mickey. Are you trans?”

 

                “Yeah,” Mickey spat, tensing so his biceps flexed. “What about it? You gonna keep fucking staring, fuckhead?”

 

                “If you’ll let me,” Ian replied. Mickey’s hackles visibly rose and Ian rushed to explain himself before he started trying to beat Ian up again. “I’d rather do other things though.”

 

                “...what?” Mickey asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion laced with anger. Ian thought maybe anger was the default state of his eyebrows.

 

                 “You’re fucking hot,” Ian said, shrugging. He continued stripping off his clothes and Mickey just kept staring at him like a startled animal. Ian stripped off the gloves he’d been wearing with his teeth, eyes trained solely on Mickey. He tentatively reached out and touched Mickey’s bicep, marveling at the solidness of it. “Fuck, you’re so fucking _hot_.”

 

Ian touched him again, with more purpose, but still avoiding touching his chest, and Mickey accepted it this time. He felt up Mickey’s shoulder to the back of his neck and yanked him in for a kiss which Mickey stubbornly avoided. Ian took note of Mickey’s resistance and didn’t push for it again, instead digging his fingers in over Mickey’s ribcage and rolling him. He pressed Mickey down into the mattress and ground their bodies together. Because they were both still wearing pants the friction was maddening.

 

Ian was topless by then and Mickey tried not to linger on touching his chest, flat and muscular as it was, but it was hard not to fixate on it when he hadn’t expected the scrawny kid to be as built. He was almost what Mickey dreamed he could be, but less lanky. Mickey would never be limby like Ian was, which suited him just fine. Apparently it suited Ian just fine too, if the hungry way he was looking Mickey over was anything to go by.

 

Trying not to push Mickey too far or too fast into territory that he might not be comfortable with sharing with another person, Ian let Mickey take the lead on what they did as much as he could. He was still frantic and horny and so eager to fuck Mickey that it _hurt_ , but he made sure to respect Mickey’s boundaries. He was flooded with relief and excitement when Mickey’s goals for this encounter seemed to be the same as his – he pushed Ian off him for a second and rolled over on to all fours, practically presenting his ass to Ian.

 

“Lube’s on the headboard, closest to the wall,” he grunted, voice muffled by the pillow he propped himself up on. Ian took the instructions without question, leaning past Mickey to grab the half-empty tube of lube from where it hid amongst all the clutter on Mickey’s headboard. He hesitated in pulling Mickey’s pants down and Mickey huffed impatiently, yanking them down himself and splaying his legs open where he crouched on the bed.

 

                To say Ian was blown away would be putting it lightly. He stared at the picture before him for long enough that Mickey sat up on his elbows and growled ‘you gonna fuck it or are you just gonna stare at it all day?’ over his shoulder at Ian. That got his ass in gear and soon enough Ian had two long fingers stretching Mickey open and then, at Mickey’s muffled breathless demand, he’d plucked a rubber out of his wallet, put it on, and pushed into Mickey.

 

                Mickey clutched at the sheets with one hand and Ian couldn’t tell how Mickey was doing given that he was biting the pillow to keep in his noises (hopefully not his whimpers of agony) and Ian was a bit lost. He rocked his hips gently, testing the waters, and Mickey reached a hand back and grabbed at Ian’s hip, pulling at him and urging him to keep going. That and the fact that Mickey was rocking back on each of Ian’s thrusts made him more confident, and soon he was grunting as he fucked Mickey into the mattress, sending the headboard thunking against the wall every other snap of his hips.

 

                Ian was relieved when he saw Mickey’s free hand worm between his body and the mattress to get himself off while Ian fucked him. He wasn’t sure how deep Mickey’s insecurities went and he doubted he would have been okay with Ian touching him like that. He had a brief thought that maybe someday Mickey would be alright with him doing that, but as he heard Mickey growl into the pillow he picked up his pace and filed the thought away for another time in favour of gripping Mickey’s hips and plowing him into oblivion.

 

                Stooping down to whisper into Mickey’s ear meant that Ian had to slow down a little, but it also meant that Mickey was paying more attention to what he was saying.

 

                “You close?” Ian asked, lips brushing the side of Mickey’s neck. Mickey turned his head a little and Ian almost kissed him until he remembered how he’d dodged Ian’s kiss earlier. Instead he nipped at Mickey’s earlobe, smirking when the older boy’s breath hitched.

 

                “Yeah. Fuck me harder,” he instructed and so Ian did as he was told, pressing his body down against Mickey’s and holding him firmly while he snapped his hips brutally against Mickey’s. Based on the punched-out breathy sounds Mickey made into the pillow Ian assumed that he was doing something right, and he watched as the muscles of Mickey’s arm strained with how vigorously he was touching himself.

 

                Ian had to hold on tight when Mickey’s back arched, his whole body stiffening up and clenching down on Ian’s cock. Ian kept pumping into him until Mickey was pushing at Ian’s hip and telling him to stop. He convulsed under Ian for another moment before he let out a sigh, then groped around until he had a hand wrapped around Ian’s cock, jerking him a couple of times and making him gasp.

 

                “Take the condom off,” Mickey instructed Ian, and he hurried to do so, tossing it across the room somewhere. Mickey would probably find it weeks later when he stepped on it or something but Ian had trouble thinking about that when Mickey was stroking his cock again. The angle was awkward so Mickey couldn’t go nearly fast enough to get Ian off, so he took up the motion himself. Mickey still touched him, fingers sometimes stroking Ian’s pelvis or helping him jerk off but Ian liked it best when Mickey was caressing his balls, rubbing and squeezing them. Ian tilted his head back and let out a breathy curse to the ceiling when he finally finished, spurts of come landing in smears and puddles on Mickey’s lower back and ass.

 

                Mickey was still for only a moment before he squirmed around until he found his pants still tangled around one of his ankles and yanked them back up. Then he elbowed Ian until he got off him, and rolled over onto his back. Ian tentatively settled in next to Mickey, shivering a little in the inadequately heated Milkovich house. Having an unheated house wasn’t an unusual thing to him, but he still made up for it with blankets and sleeping bags on his bed. He sat up and spotted a scratchy-looking red blanket mashed into the bedframe at the foot of the bed. He crawled the short distance to yank it free and then returned to Mickey’s side, throwing the blanket over them.

 

                They had barely a minute to relax and Ian was just about to turn to Mickey and suggest a repeat performance when his life flashed before his eyes. He wasn’t happy that he was going to die at the hands of Terry Milkovich but he supposed it could be worse – at least he was dying right after mind-blowing sex. Ian froze when the door opened and he could feel Mickey tense beside him. Right as he was wondering who would write his eulogy at his funeral Terry barely spared them a glance as he wandered through the room and into the bathroom.

 

                He did what he had to do and walked back out of the bathroom and to leave Mickey’s room when he paused in the doorway. He turned and looked over his shoulder at them, squinting.

 

                “Ain’t you Mandy’s boyfriend?” he asked, slurring around his cigarette. Ian nodded slowly, as if he was afraid any sudden movements might spook Terry into a fit of rage. “And you’re fucking her?”

 

                Mickey’s body was wound tight as his dad misgendered him. “Please don’t tell her,” Mickey said, and his dad snorted.

 

                “Long as I don’t have to hear her bitchin’ about it, be as slutty as you want. Just don’t get knocked up,” Terry said, turning and slouching out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ian didn’t think Terry hearing Mandy ‘bitching’ would be a problem since he didn’t really strike Ian as the type to be a caring concerned father with an open ear to his daughter’s relationship woes.

 

                Mickey didn’t say a word about what had just happened, just sat up and pushed the blanket off himself, shoving at Ian until he could climb out of the bed. He scooped a t-shirt off the floor and pulled it on as he strolled into the bathroom. Ian watched him go, then sighed and sat up, finding his pants on the floor.

 

                He was just zipping up his fly when Mickey came back out of the bathroom and tossed the gun on the edge of the bed in his line of sight. Ian paused and looked from the gun to Mickey, who bit his lip and looked like he wanted to say something. Ian took one step closer to him and Mickey turned away, rubbing at his mouth.

 

                “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out,” he said, leaving Ian to finish getting dressed alone.


End file.
